Unexpected Ally
by gracedUSA
Summary: When a mission leaves Sam, Michael and Fiona stranded in the everglades they find help in an unlikely place. More H/C cause that tends to be my favorite! Still getting my feet under me in this whole fanfic world! I welcome reviews, suggestions, and ideas. Also I still don't own Burn Notice.
1. Chapter 1

**You guys are amazing - by the way. Keep the reviews coming! They make me so excited! Hope you enjoy this one and I welcome any ideas! Let me know what you want to see! I still don't own Burn Notice.**

They were stuck. No phones. Three pistols. No food. No way to get help.

And no reasonable hope of finding civilization.

When their captors dumped them in the everglades Sam, Fiona and Michael all knew it might not end well. They just didn't factor in Aubin.

Michael and Fiona had both been tortured. She was worse off, but neither was truly, empirically up for the trek through the swamps that undoubtedly lay ahead of them.

Michael had a ricochet wound in his hip and Fiona had one in her upper back. All three of them had been tortured in their own right. Sam was the most in tact, as their captors had quickly realized they wouldn't get any information from the ex-SEAL and that he was too stoic to be used as leverage against Michael. A couple cuts on one arm and a dozen bruises were all Sam had to show for his ordeal. Michael had more bruises – including a black eye that had split the skin on his forehead, sending a rivulet of blood down his face. A line of cuts on one forearm – far more than the four on Sam's – spoke to the time he'd spent in questioning. Fiona had benefited marginally from some inherent chauvinism – they hadn't actually interrogated her – but they had used her to get to Michael. They'd hurt her less systematically than Michael and Sam. She didn't have orderly rows of cuts. They'd just tied her to a chair and gone at her with a broken table leg. There were cigarette burns, and cuts and splinters and too many bruises to count. She was holding onto consciousness – but both she and Michael were fading fast.

They made it a good mile and a half before she stopped, leaning more heavily on Sam than she had been, holding the worst of her injuries – a penetrating blow from the table leg along the inside edge of her ribs.

"Michael we need to stop," Sam said, taking in Fiona's unnatural pallor, then looking up to see just how bad off Michael was as well. He was limping badly, his eyes glazed and focused straight ahead.

"Mikey, brother," Sam repeated when his friend didn't respond.

"Michael!" Fiona cried. That snapped him out of it. Michael stopped, turned, rushed back to them.

"What's wrong?" he asked, fingers tracing the curve of Fiona's blood-stained cheek.

"You both need to stop," Sam said.

"We'll be fine," Michael retorted, "right Fi? You can make it a couple more miles? We're bound to hit a road somewhere soon..."

"Not before one of you passes out on me," Sam replied with equal vigor.

Michael just shook his head, taking Fiona's hand and starting forward again. But she jerked back, pulling away from him.

"Michael, we need to stop. Now. Michael you're shaking – you're going into shock – that bullet wound is pouring blood – we need to do something about it before you…" Fiona began, but before she could finish Michael confirmed her worst fears, passing out on the swampy earth, his head hitting the ground hard as a fresh stream of blood rushed from the injury in his leg.


	2. Chapter 2

And at that moment things went from bad to worse. Sam and Fiona knelt in the mud next to their wounded friend – applying pressure to the wound in his leg and hoping they could get the bleeding under control. Hoping they could fix it. Somehow.

Then, as they were immersed in their task, someone came up from behind them – arms spread wide, palms open.

"I can help," said a low, melodic voice, tinged with an accent that made no sense in South Florida, an accent that would have made more sense in sub-Saharan Africa.

Sam whipped out his pistol and spun to face the intruder.

He was a tall, dark-skinned man – older than Michael but younger than Sam. He wore lightweight, dark gray pants and a plain black t-shirt. Paired with his dark skin, the clothes helped him blend into the shady foliage.

"What do you want?" Fiona snapped, not looking up from the blood still coming between her fingers from Michael's injury.

"You're hurt," their visitor said, "I can help."

"And you are?" Sam asked, not lowering his gun.

"My name is Aubin. I came here as a refugee – from the Congo. I was a doctor back home – but here I have no license. So here I help people who can't go to a real doctor. I think that's probably you," he said calmly.

Fiona and Sam exchanged a worried glance, but soon Sam shrugged and lowered his weapon.

"Ricochet wound in his leg and her back. Superficial lacerations on both him and me, burns on her chest, and a lot of bruising on all of us. I think she might have a cracked rib – potential for a collapsed lung," Sam said, "work your magic."

"Can I take you back to my home first?" Aubin asked, kneeling next to Michael and checking his pulse, "I have everything I need there."

"You can – but not yet. Prove you know your stuff first," Sam insisted.

"Alright, let me see," Aubin said, still uncannily calm. He gently took Fiona's hands away from Michael's wound, and carefully pulled away the fragment of Sam's shirt they'd been using as a bandage. He examined the wound and checked Michael's pulse again as Michael's eyes fluttered open – waking up at the renewed pain.

"I can take care of it – the bullet's not deep – tweezers should take care of that – then a couple of stitches, some antibiotics, and lots of rest," Aubin explained, "But I can't do any of that here."

"Glad to hear you're not going to be taking a bullet out of me in a swamp," Michael muttered, pushing himself up to a seated position and rubbing his eyes.

"Okay…we will give this a try. But Aubin if you make this worse, if one of them dies…" Sam didn't finish his threat.

"Absolutely…I didn't catch your name?" Aubin replied.

"He's Lewis, I'm Chuck, she's Ella," Sam answered, "now let's get going."  
Sam put a hand under Fiona's elbow to help her up, but stopped short when she cried out, grasping the puncture wound on her ribs. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her skin was going pale beneath the superficial tan.

"Aubin…here's your chance to prove your mettle," Sam insisted, laying Fiona down and pulling back the fabric of her bloody shirt.

"She has a collapsed lung…nothing I can do about it here," Aubin replied, lifting Fiona into his arms and starting off the way he'd come.

Michael and Sam just stared for a moment, hands on their weapons.

Aubin glanced over his shoulder, "Do you want her to die?"


	3. Chapter 3

Aubin laid Fiona out on a relatively clean wooden table in his "office" – a room that had probably once been a bedroom in his tiny but immaculately kept house. The bungalow appeared spontaneously out of the swamp – appearing in perfect white glory against the dark greens, browns and grays.

He swabbed her side with alcohol then grabbed a needle, some tubing and a hemostat.

"One of you keep her right arm up," he said, "whoever's not doing that keep her calm – I don't need her panicking on me."

"You're not using an anesthetic?" Sam asked as Aubin inserted the needle into Fiona's freshly cleaned skin.

"I don't accept pay for my work – and I only have so much money," Aubin replied with a shrug.

"But doesn't getting a chest tube hurt?" Michael asked, though he knew the answer from previous experience.

"She'll pass out if the pain gets too bad."

"Do we really want to take her there?" Michael retorted.

"Do we really have another choice?" Aubin countered, still working.

Fiona bit down hard on her top lip, trying to fight the growing agony of Aubin's ministrations. She knew it would save her life – but actually feeling that pain made her doubt whether she wanted to live. She tried to stay still, tried to stay quiet, tried to focus on Michael's hands where they brushed against her cheek.

It didn't work.

Against her better judgment Fiona heard herself scream, felt her body arch away from the table.

Her mind insisted she pass out – her body was having none of it.

"Almost done," Aubin said gently.

Fiona found the willpower to shake her head – she didn't like the sound of "almost" done. She needed this to be over. Now.

"I know it hurts…" Aubin added, still working.

Fiona just shook her head again.

"But," Aubin finished as he completed his task, "doesn't it feel better now?"

There wasn't enough left in Fiona to register if anything felt better. The pain was bad – worse than any of the bullet wounds or dislocated shoulders or other injuries she'd faced in the past. Breathing was easier – but still agonizing. She decided that must be an improvement and closed her eyes, hoping for unconsciousness.

It didn't come. Before she knew what was happening Aubin was probing around her back trying to get the bullet out of the ricochet wound. And – in perfect timing – after she'd endured the pain of getting a chest tube and moments after he finally got the round free of her flesh – she passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

She woke up in Michael's arms – appreciating for a moment that she wasn't in an actual hospital. The two of them sleeping together never would have passed muster at a legitimate medical facility.

Sam sat beside them stitching a cut in his own arm, eyes constantly flickering between his work and his friends.

"You're up," he said joyfully when Fiona shifted on Michael's chest, trying to relieve some of the pressure on her shoulder injury. She could feel that her chest tube was gone and she could see that the cut on Michael's face had scabbed over.

"How long was I out?" she asked.

"Three days – well – you came to a couple times. Pain woke you up then put you promptly back to sleep," Sam said, "we got the chest tube out a couple hours ago."

"You're okay?" she asked, trying not to sound interested.

"Yep. A couple scars won't do me any harm," Sam replied.

"Michael?"

"Will be fine now that he knows you're safe. He hasn't been sleeping nearly enough so far."

"And Aubin?"

"Disappeared."

"Say anything before he left?" Fiona asked, pretending to care, curling into Michael's chest and wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.

"He left this."

Sam handed Fiona a square of paper with a single line of flowing, confident script.

It read, "Do not be forgetful of hospitality, for through this, some have entertained angels unawares. – Hebrews 13:2"


End file.
